Sticks And Stones Will Break Our Bones,

I Know What I Really Want For Christmas. I Want My Childhood Back. Nobody Is Going To Give Me That. I Might Give At Least The Memory Of It To Myself If I Try. I Know It Doesn't Make Sense, But Since When Is Christmas About Sense, Anyway? It Is About A Child, Of Long Ago And Far Away, And It Is About The Child Of Now. In You And Me. Waiting Behind The Door Of Or Hearts For Something Wonderful To Happen. A Child Who Is Impractical, Unrealistic, Simpleminded And Terribly Vulnerable To Joy.

Life Is Lumpy. And A Lump In The Oatmeal, A Lump In The Throat, And A Lump In A Breast Are Not The Same Lump. One Should Learn The Difference.

I Do Not Want To Know What You Will Hope For. I Want To Know What You Will Work For. I Do Not Want Your Sympathy For The Needs Of Humanity. I Want Your Muscle. As The Wagon Driver Said When They Came To A Long, Hard Hill: ‘them That’s Going On With Us, Get Out And Push. Them That Ain’t, Get Out Of The Way’.

Share Everything. Don't Take Things That Aren't Yours. Put Things Back Where You Found Them.

Remember, Most Of Us Got Something For Nothing The First Time Just By Showing Up Here At Birth. Now We Have To Qualify.